


Twenty-Four Chances

by D3moira



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Beth Greene Lives, Bethyl Smut Week, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Fluff and Smut, One Shot, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sex, Smut, Wall Sex, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D3moira/pseuds/D3moira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an exchange of surprises, of different levels, of different kinds. (Straight up sin with too many words.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty-Four Chances

**Author's Note:**

> This is an excerpt from a larger fic, [Learn The Rules](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6552139), though it is not required reading. Mostly it was an excuse for pre-established domestic Bethyl smut.

There was a routine now, and that alone blew Daryl's mind.

Daryl had never had a routine in his life. There were patterns, but they were survival tactics. The earliest one he could think of was how he’d keep out of the shitty shack he’d grown up in on certain nights.

Friday through to Monday, Daryl would make himself scarce. By Tuesday, his old man would be so thoroughly fucked up from binge drinks and happy hours that he’d be as harmful as an alley cat. See, when the old man was hungover, he couldn’t land his blows properly, and Daryl could feign hurt like a champ.

The old fucker would buy Daryl’s act, and grumble about how the lesson better stick this time.

_ Sure did, asshole. _

Daryl had worked around that pattern, though it wasn’t reliable. When it worked, it'd been the closest thing he'd had to a  _ job _ . It’s also probably how he survived to this age, the way he could predict when trouble was on its way.

The heavy drop of boots against hardwood floor, like he has a place to be, this is  _ close  _ to a routine.

When there were no complications on a run, and Beth wasn't held up by Judith or her work in the kitchen, he'd find her at home. Yeah,  _ home _ . The word made his shoulders roll back, and his chin rise with pride. He had to bite back the smile of pride.

Yeah, this was their home, their place, and he’d killed for it time and again. She’d killed for it too, his girl, so much stronger than he could ever be. They worked together to keep it clean, keep it nice, and he’s disgustingly proud of this pile of wood and plaster.

Beth would be in their room ( _ their  _ room, he repeated in his mind) or out in the sunroom. She had explained it to him, something about when the sun was low in the sky, and the afternoon breeze, and Daryl hadn't even asked for her to explain.

But he'd listen to anything she offered to him. He’d listen to her read a phonebook, if that’s what she wanted to do.

It’s a quick jog up the stairs, and a few steps along the hallway, and he’s there. The bed she’d set up, with all the things she’d picked up to decorate it with. He’d been reverent of it, at first, and he still is. It’s all light and white and so much her, he’s afraid to get it dirty.

Daryl set his crossbow against the wall by the door, and looked at their bed. The sheets weren’t on it, and he smirked through a low chuckle. Yeah, she always complained about the sheets, how he’d mess them up, but  _ really _ , it was her mess. It wasn’t his fault she came so fucking hard, okay.

Which -- 

It clicked.

Beth wasn’t upstairs.

There’s a flicker of panic, which he shook it off.

That’s fine, really, that she’s not in here. He figured that, given the setting sun, that she would be outside. He just needed to drop off his bow, and  _ see _ if she was here. It would make his surprise easier, because he’d not have to carry her here… But it’s okay. He’ll cop it.

Daryl plodded downstairs, and made a beeline to the back of the house.

The back door is swung wide open, and his girl,  _ Beth _ , is by their clothesline.

Daryl smiled like it was a nice surprise to see her, because it is. Every time he saw her, it was a miracle -- or some poetic shit like that.

He’s not good with words.

Daryl can pretend it’s simple. Daryl can act like he got off work, and came home to a house they own together. Beth, she’s a carer, she looked after the children in town, and she worked with the crops. They can pretend there’s not walkers and wolves and everything inbetween out there, because all he needed was here, with her.

Because there’s his girl, out in their yard, with their clothes hung out on their clothesline, and he's gonna use the words  _ his _ and  _ theirs  _ till he can't say anything else.

There's a weight in his pocket, though the box isn't heavy.

It's barely there, but honestly, it's may as well be an anchor for how heavy it felt to him. He's set on this surprise for her. Each step closer to her sapped his confidence, and it's not much of a gift. It’s also a pretty  _ shitty  _ surprise, now that he thought about it, but he hoped it would be at least worth a nod. She might even given him a smile.

There’s no obligation, though.

It’s always up to her.

Daryl would take an idle brush of her fingertips across his elbow as she passed him, he’d take a headbutt because she moved wrong in bed, he’d take her cunt however she wanted him to -- the last one, he’d  _ gladly _ take.

The thing is, when it came to Beth, he’d take anything she saw fit to offer. He’d take her request to love her, to leave her,  _ whatever _ . And then he’d thank her for it.

It's not that he's reverent of her, or that he idolized her.

Except, yeah, it's exactly both those things.

With all this thought, he hasn’t got the words to greet her. He was drawn like a walker to fire, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he burned up on contact. Beth turned, as if she knew he was on the approach. Given his heavy footsteps on the deck, she’d likely heard him.

“Figures, you turn up just as I’m done with the washin’."

Daryl made an apologetic sound, but there's a smirk on his lips. She saw it, he  _ knew _ she saw it, but she didn't shift her stance. She remained by the line, turned away, hands framed on the oversized shirt that isn’t hers.

Because it's his.

A lot of things are his, and  _ theirs _ , and Beth wasn’t blind. She could always see how he’d linger just a fraction longer on her when she wore his jacket on cold nights. Whenever she asked him to throw her a shirt, he’d toss one of his as if it were random. Beth isn’t that stupid.

Daryl has more clothes now too, given that Beth was prone to borrow his shirts. Not only that, she  _ washed  _ stuff. Weekly.

More often, if they messed up the sheets.

That was something that Daryl aimed to achieve as much as possible, if only to watch her struggle to get the sheets back onto the bed. And then to muss them all up again, where he’d drag her by the hips close and bury his face between her legs. She’d be clung to a pillow she’d not even put a case on, and he’d get her good and  _ gone _ .

It’s a  _ thing _ , going down on her. He’ll be the first to admit it.

So right  _ now,  _ she's in his shirt. And she can see him, lips parted around the appreciation he can’t voice. He wanted to, to tell her she looked any number of ways, but he can’t find a word. Hot is too simple, and beautiful isn’t quite right. He’d throw the word  _ fuckable _ at her, but he’d never use that out loud. Seemed too  _ much,  _ like a buzzword from a porno.

And he’s not inclined to be so cocky with his words.

Especially not when they’re out in their backyard, with a space between them wide enough that he’d have to speak loudly. No, he’d find the words later, lips at her ear, teeth and tongue inclined to draw out whatever she had on offer. It was always easier to whisper things to her, when they were close.

“What?” Beth looked down, at her bare feet and bare legs. The shirt skimmed too close to the middle of her thighs, closer to her hips. Her bare knees were pink, but the rest was a porcelain white, and he privately  _ hoped  _ there were shorts under that shirt. Beth probably had one of those pairs of shorts, the kind he didn’t even see the point in, until she bent over, and he saw exactly what they were about.

“What’s up Daryl?”

There’s a throaty hum of approval from Daryl, and he closed the gap. The hope of shorts was for his own sake; he could only handle so much.

Daryl’s hands settled at her sides, thumbs run across the flat of her ribcage. There’s no bra that he can feel. She skipped them when at home, and that was fine by him. More than fine, honestly, because she breathed easier and seemed comfier.

Beth’s breathing stilled, nervous and shallow. His wide palms kept her in place, close, and while there’s no bra, he can feel the scar. It ran the length of her side, too thick to go unnoticed by his touch.

Sure, it’s nowhere near thick or hard enough for it to be noticeable at a glance, but he knew it was there. It was a survival story, carved into her by a man she’d murdered. It’s a scar that spoke of how much she trusted Daryl, given she’d let him stitch her up.

Right now, Beth is all his. He’s pressed up against her, behind her, because she’d not bothered to turn around.

“You good? You’re doin’ that thing with your jaw. I can feel it -- like, rollin’ it. Gridin’ your teeth.” Beth beamed. She fucking beamed, like she doesn’t recognize what’s going on between them. He’d almost believe her, if he didn’t know better. She was too good at feigned obliviousness, like he wasn’t pressed against her, hands framed against her ribs.

It's a hug, first and foremost, because he wanted one. He'd been out all day, and things had been fine. They'd been great, really, given the knocked over a bookstore that had a house attached at the back. No one went for books in this world, so no one had bothered to push in.

It meant canned food, some weapons, and that was plenty good enough for the group.

For Daryl, well, he'd snatched his own thing. Some books for her, a couple for him, but something else. Something in a backpack, stashed in a back corner. He nearly wept when he ripped open the bag, given the zip had jammed.

Daryl could weep right now, too, with the girl in his arms who leaned back into his touch. There’s a shift, and it’s no longer a hug. Not entirely. Her ass is pushed up, back, the touch an attempt at coy, like everything else. She’s a force of nature.

“Mmh, m’fine. Good day?” Daryl managed to speak, finally, his lips against her neck. He could almost fall asleep out here, with only her for warmth. He’d lay on the ground, curled up under the stars, content.

“Mhm! Spent most of it with Carol, takin’ care of Judith. We figure we would work on some books, for Judes. Runs can’t be bringin’ back stuff like baby books, so… We’re writin’ our own ones, little stories and poems. She’s gonna want to start readin’ soon. Or, I want her t’start.”

“Could bring ‘em back for you.” Daryl would bring her just about anything she asked for, even if it was his own heart on ice. Whatever it took to make her smile, and speak in that soft little voice of surprise she had when he got her gifts. “Wouldn’t be hard.”

“If you want to, I’m sure Judith would appreciate it.” Beth rolled back against him to peck his cheek, but he’s more set on the ass that ground back against him. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Yeah, I know y’would.” Daryl felt he’d been punched in the heart, and he resumed the idle kisses to her shoulder and neck. He isn’t soft, he tells himself. He’s formed from hurt, blood, bone and muscle, and he spent his life on the run. He’d run from his father, from his name, then he just ran because he was  _ already  _ running.

Daryl didn’t know how to stop, to stay still, to settle. He ran, and fought, and this new world was much of the same. But this little blonde, all wonder and care and gentle words, he can’t begin to understand.

Someone he’d learned to settle for. But he’d learned that months ago, by candlelight and gravestones. This was just another try at it, one that would last. He’d make it last.

“What kinda stories you write?”

“About the people we’ve been with. Lori, a little about Shane, Tyreese… My dad.” Beth spun herself, hands set on either of his cheeks. There’s eye contact, and this flick of her gaze. She looked between his lips and eyes, but she’s not going to be the one to break. “My favorite one was called The Grumpy Old Archer. Wanna guess who that’s about -- ”

_ Okay, sure. _

The hands on her sides dropped down to her ass, where he yanked her closer. From the gasp, it’d struck her the same was the first thrust always did, and he’s proud of himself. A sick sense of pride, because he knew where he’d got her, where she  _ felt _ him.

Beth cast a glance across the yard, where the waist height fences allowed you to peer into your neighbors’ yards. She looked back to him, face red, eyes wide. “Can we go inside?” It’s conspiratory, from a now-dry mouth. “Please?”

Daryl wanted so badly to shake his head.

_ No,  _ he’d say. _ I’m fine right here. _

Because Beth was the one out here in a shirt and not much else. He worked out there weren’t shorts under the shirt, given the lack of fabric. It was her own fault if they got caught out, because she’d  _ done  _ this herself.

Instead he ran his tongue across the inside of his teeth, eyes focused down at her. They don’t have neighbors, really, only the Grimes’ and he knew that Rick and Michonne were on the wall. He ground his jaw, and knew that Carol could be there, or worse, Carl, and he wanted to stay out here, but it wasn’t worth it.

Not  _ now _ . Some other time. More planning. He’d really like to see her splayed out in the grass, ass in the air, and that’s  _ later _ .

For now, Daryl yanked her after him. She followed eagerly, and didn’t  _ need _ the yank, but he’d taken her wrist in his hand. She matched him, her hand on his elbow, all giggles. They don’t get inside, not as much as she probably had wanted.

There’s a room that sat between the inside of the house and the deck, a little half-there room that rich people always had. It’s called a sunroom, Beth had told him. Likely because of the large windows that were turned out towards the afternoon sun.

This so-called sunroom, it’s lavish, and about three times the size of his childhood bedroom. It wasn’t even a proper room in the house, but it’s nicer than anything he’d owned in his life.

Most of all, it had a couch, and that was plenty more than he’d need. The tug of her wrist brought her close, and there’s a thud, and then heat. Her, across his lap, against his chest, and there’s no room for her to shift away.

“We have a room y’know.”

“Yeah, this one.” Daryl nipped at her bottom lip, a grin split on his face.

Beth only giggled, till she couldn’t. His hands grabbed onto her hips, lips at her throat. He’d been hesitant the first few times they’d gotten closer, even when they’d only kept to their hands. It was weird, how much they’d shifted from those first few nights. She would test him, gently, and though she’d been a virgin and he’d fucked a few women, she was  _ beyond  _ him in experience.

Because there’s getting your cock wet, and then there’s the full sensory experience of Beth Greene. She’s eager, sweet hands and even sweeter lips, and he wanted to see them spread out in moans. It’s a parody of the face she made when she sung, lips drawn red and wide and he loved it.

The hands at her ass groped, lazily at first, then purposefully, and wait a fucking second --

“Girl.”

The tone is close to a threat, but nothing close to it. It’s the same growl she openly appreciated, and reacted to. Maybe he used it more often now because she told him how she liked it, but that had been genuine.

Because what the fuck,  _ girl _ .

Daryl paused his bites at her jawline, to further grab at her. Like maybe he’d missed the line that her underwear should make, because he was distracted. There’s her throat, and a hand in her hair, and he’s distracted, but he’s not wrong.

With the dying light in the sky that pitched everything into pinks and oranges, he noticed something.

Or more importantly, he noticed a  _ lack _ of something.

“ _ Beth _ .”

Daryl dragged a hand through her mess of cornsilk ponytail, to clear all the strands away so his work was on display. Her neck was a soft speckle of purple, a few old marks, maybe a few new ones. The corner of his mouth twitched, eyes dropped over her. The light of her chest, that peaked out of the dark shirt. His mouth was desperate to go further than the shirt allowed, and that started with the nipples that she’d pressed against him, desperate. Both of them were.

Beth had her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, like she was mad that he’d noticed, or more likely, that he’d stopped the kisses across the hollow of her throat. She remained silent, except her eyes were all kinds of fierce.

“You wanna explain?”

There’s no response, except for the visible  _ swallow _ from her. His hand tightened against her hair, enough to pull out a gasp.

“Explain what Daryl?” Beth had this breathy, sugary way she spoke when they were alone. She played it up, same as him, affecting a sweetness that was her, but disingenuous. She was sin, pure and simple. She’d have a hard time to prove otherwise where he was concerned.

“Th’fuck you doin’?” The words are harsh, but they’re spoken with laughter at the edges. Because he’s not mad, not even a little.

Beth continued to stare, as if she was unsure of the path to take. She looked over him, down the line of his neck, across his shoulders, then back to his face. There’s a buck of his hips up against her, which was enough to snap an answer out.

“I’m kissin’ you? Is that...?”

“Don’t.” Daryl scoffed, because she  _ knew _ what he meant. She had been in the backyard, in his shirt and that’s it. That’s all. He’d thought there were shorts under it, but no. No tights, no panties, no  _ nothing  _ under that shirt, and what the fuck was that about.

Daryl ran a finger down the length of his shirt, the one  _ she _ had on, and the buttons popped open in response. It was a shitty old shirt, and she’d always threaten to throw it out, but she wouldn’t. It’s soft, though nowhere near as soft as her, and he’d had it forever.

Now it’s half-hung over her figure, draped around her slight curves, and it’s just about his favorite shirt ever.

And yep, no underwear. Daryl looked to her, near unable to believe her. What a fucking tease.

Beth squirmed, bottom lip caught between her teeth like she was shy. It was a good act, very true to how a girl might act if were embarrassed. He’d applaud her for her acting, were his hands not cupped against her ass.

Because Beth had never been the shy one, not from the first time she’d tossed her dress onto the floor with an exasperated sigh.

Daryl, the idiot, always picked her as a sweet girl. Whenever he’d thought of her, of what it’d be like to fuck her, it’d been just as sweet. The blonde would be so shy, he figured, and he’d have to spur her along into anything. He’d gently guide her through the steps, soft voice, gentle hands, and it’d be just so fucking  _ sweet _ , because that’s how she is.

Somehow, he thought he’d have shit to teach her about sex, and intimacy, and he had been so wrong that he’d like to laugh at his past self. For someone so observant, he’d missed a huge part of her.

Because that isn’t the case at all. Beth had kissed him first, pulled him close, snatched him by the wrist and tugged him through every step. Sometimes he’d show her, but it was all on her. All on her confidence, and how she encouraged the same confidence out of him.

But they can slip and switch, change it up, like she is now. It’s not cloyingly innocent, and it’s not  _ too much  _ , and he knows her. She’s the girl who’d drag him on top of her,  _ into  _ her, ground down onto him till he was soaked with her, her teeth at his throat, or fingers too tight in his hair.

Daryl has an illusion of power, in size and age, which others might buy into. He’s bought into it now, too.

“I didn’t have anything else to wear. It’s laundry day.”

“That so?"

“Mh, see, someone keeps rippin’ my panties.” Her tongue dashed across the seam of her lips, which were as red as her cheeks. There’s a sense of pleasure that he got from how she said  _ panties  _ , and he’s a creep, and he’ll take it. He enjoyed her voice, how she’d act like everything was so obvious. He’s thumbing her thighs in small circles at her knees, the occasional scrape of too-short nails against peach flesh.

“Someone huh?” Daryl bent forward to bite at her throat, to resume where they’d been, before. Before he’d noticed that she wasn’t wearing a thing under his shirt, and how she acted like it wasn’t a big deal.

“That grumpy archer guy. He’s kinda cute though.”

There’s a bite from him and a whine from her.

He doesn’t feel bad about it anymore.

Not like he did the first few times. There’s a snap of her hips as they set into motion, ground down against him. The roll is awkward at first, but he grabbed her hip to help. Slow, rolling, empathetic. He’s been hard since he saw her by the line, in his shirt and nothing else.

But he’s had practice, with her, and he’s trying. He’s trying to keep the pace and power, because she always wins.

Likely she’d win this time, too, with the sounds she made.

Daryl’s hand tangled into her ponytail, to tip her head the way he liked. His thumb hooked into the corner of her mouth, where she nipped him in kind, only to flick her tongue against the pad of his finger. He was too busy lathing her throat with his tongue, between bites, because it was just nice. They don’t do this all the time, no where near as often as he’d want, but it’s nice when they can.

There’s a gunshot, distant, but there’s nothing beyond it. No screams, no further shots. Daryl had paused his teeth against her pulsepoint, attention set on the back door. It’s not outside, but it’s not inside. He’s not going to move though.

The blood under his bite had quickened with the shot, and he was no better off. It was a crack in their little bubble, but they’d pick it back up. Beth squirmed against him, down, closer, with the sounds she made nearing that of upset. He’s in no rush though, set on at least a few marks for this effort. She bruised easily, and no one seemed to notice or care, and if they did, they didn’t say.

There were worse things in this world than a few purple ovals scattered along your throat, collarbone, breasts, hips, wherever his mouth wandered. Everything about this girl is a damn peach, honestly, soft skin, sweet taste, it’s hard to keep up with.

Daryl kept his thumb hooked against the corner of her mouth, her teeth and tongue at it with minor aggression. A token defiance, because she loved his hands, and he knew it. It kept her from  _ hiding  _ her moans between pursed lips, and the wetness and pressure were enough to keep his blood sizzling through every part of him. Not that he even needs that extra edge, given how badly he wanted to just  _ fuck  _ her, but he’s done that. He’s fucked her, and it was over too quickly, and he let her get to him.

This time, he’s going to stick to his plan, even if she tried to one up him again.

The other hand is wherever he wanted it. It started at her thigh, his thumbs set in their teasing circles, but he shifted it up. He traced her ribs, against the spot he’d stitched closed, and then stroked at the underside of her breast. She’s a series of approving sounds, all excited and breathless.

It’s not aggressive, this pace, not as much as he can be, but he’s rough. It’s not with any intent, honestly. He’s left bruises on her, all in passion and kindness, and he’s seen her admire them when she changed. Daryl is too reverent of the woman strung across his lap to ever hurt her with malicious intent. The mere thought made him ill.

From her side, he got brave. He pushed at the fabric, enough to see her. She was petite in every sense of the word, and it was only magnified by his thick, wide hands. He’d never really thought about his hands, not until they were being dragged to her cunt and breasts that first time. He’s thought a lot about them since then.

How they’d make her sing, and sigh, and how she keened into him. He didn’t love them, his hands, but he loved her; he loved using them on her, to encourage out the good feelings, and the moans. God, the moans. His thumb and forefinger drew across the slight swell of her breast, idle, thoughtful, like he wasn’t aware of how much she liked it.

The touches only got more edge as she writhed down and against him, her nails in search of where she could cause pain. She was sweet and soft and light incarnate, but right now she had her hands tightly fastened at his hair and shoulder. There’s nails at his scalp and his collarbone, and he’s all grunts and growls.

Beth’s hips don’t stop their circles, and only get wider, needier, as he worked her over.

“Daryl, stop.”

The archer didn’t even cover the amused lift of his brow. He stopped, because she asked. Daryl looked over her, all pinks and purples, and a pair of glazed blue eyes. He would feel bad about the sheen of spit and raw skin of her throat, but she liked it.

Given how wet his lap was from her, she might even love it.

“Alright.” Daryl sounded put upon, a rasp of a sigh sounded from him.

There’s a whine, and her hands are at his belt. He had stopped, because she told him to, but it wasn’t what she meant. The evidence is in how she fought to undo his pants. He snatched her wrists, one in either hand. He pressed lazy, open mouthed kisses to her left inner wrist. There’s a hairline scar, hardly there.

“What the hell, Daryl.”

“Y’said _ stop _ .”

“I meant stop teasin’.”

“You first.”

Beth pushed at his chest with shaky hands, no real aggression in her. He used to worry about her hands, how they would move against her will. It was only happened sometimes, when she’d just woken up, or if she was too strung out. Right now, it was like she couldn’t properly use them. He’d found it cute, as he’d taken it as her being nervous. In time, in observing her closer, it became clear that nerves weren’t it at all.

Daryl’s attention flicked over her, skipped to each scar, like he could undo them if he stared hard enough. The one that rested high on her forehead, small but angry, her shakes were all from that. How she would become dizzy, or dazed, and the headaches, it was all part of that scar.

It fucked up her guitar playing, she said, it made it hard to write. He didn’t notice a change in her skills, though he did see her struggle to open things, or how her hands would shake when she set Judith down. He didn’t care how it looked, either, because that didn’t matter. He had his scars, and she had hers.

They were a matched pair for all the abuse the world had flung at them, and he didn’t  _ like  _ her scars. She didn’t like his, either. But they saw them for what they were, stripes that showed a survivor, not a victim.

“Why th’shirt?”

“I said, laundry day.”

“Don’t think so.” Daryl’s hand had snapped to her thigh, fingertips dragged across her inner thigh.

Beth lost her voice, only for a moment. “I just, I guess I wanted to surprise you. Y’like how I look in your clothes -- right?”

Yeah, that’s what he figured.

There’s a growl, low in his throat. Another series of nips took to her collarbone, the flat of his tongue drawn across the flesh of her chest. She could harp on about  _ laundry day  _ all she wanted, but he knew better. Daryl just wanted to hear her say it, to admit it was  _ for  _ him. So few things were set out for him, like gifts.

Daryl could be cruel, but not to her. Not when she’s like this, with so much trust and sweetness put onto him. He pushed her closer, a hand between her shoulders, in the curve of her back. He caught one of her nipples between his teeth, his tongue quick to follow suit. His other hand dipped between her legs, the back of his index finger pressed between against her folds.

The moan that fell from her lips wasn’t alone. Daryl leaned back, a hand on her hip, the other lost to the dark pink folds framed by sweet blonde curls. She’s wet, beyond wet, and he might cry because she’s just a sight to behold. The girl had a habit of being straddled across his lap, legs spread wide, and he liked how her hair was pulled back, and her chest was stuck out, and he doesn’t know what he wants.

More, he doesn’t know  _ how  _ he wants her.

Daryl should get that shirt off her, push it the rest of the way off, but he doesn’t. It contrasted with her skin, black on pale pink, and it’s his. Maybe it’s a kink, maybe he doesn’t give a fuck, but he liked how she looked in his shirt, so it stayed. He could at least get his own clothes off, but he doesn’t  _ care  _ , he wanted her.

The jacket can come off though --

Right.

“Hey.”

Beth looked to him, flushed in all the right places, curious eyes. She’d been sat across his lap, like she knew he had something. There was a reason he’d come home, guns blazing. So maybe it was obvious, or maybe it wasn’t, but she kept her smile in place. " _ Hey _ ."

“Found a pack, on th’run.”

The way her face lit up sent a confusing run of warmth through his spine, to low in his stomach. He’d been excited, beyond excited, but he figured there was little reason for  _ her  _ to be excited. Maybe he’d been wrong.

There’s a ruffle through his pocket as he tugged out the box, to toss it beside them onto the couch.

“If you’d want to. S’no thing, if you don’t, I can give ‘em to Denise, or, y’know, whatever, if -- we don’t gotta.”

Beth shot him a look of exasperation, and he ducked his head behind his hair. So she didn’t want to? That’s fine. He got it. She’d already snatched up the box to examine it, eyebrow raised. “Wow, they come in twenty-four packs? That’s an awful big promise.”

Daryl made a sound, somewhere between embarrassed and annoyed. Like he’d lost the power, like he always did. He shifted, like he was about to move her off him, but she clung to the back of the couch. The box was still pinched in her hand, and the corner dug into his shoulder.

“I meant, it’s a promise you better keep.” Beth giggled, her forehead come down to rest against his. Their noses knocked, their breath mixed, and his anxiety seeped out of him. “I want t’do whatever you want to do. Cuddling, or sex, or neither. It’s not a race t’the end. I trust you.”

Daryl knew it shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. Every time. Even if he’d been all over her, hands, tongue, teeth, fingers, it was all for her. He was slick with his own precome, and his jeans were wet because of her, and he loved her. He loved how she didn’t laugh, or prod when he was exposed, and this was one of those times.

“I trust you, too.”

Beth gently pushed his chin up, to peck him on the lips. “I’m all yours. I want you. And we’ve got twenty-four opportunities for me to show you that. If  _ you  _ want them.”

“Love you.”

It’s spoken against the sweet skin of her collarbone, and his hand is already back against her folds. His index finger drew along the wet there, run up against her clit, her mound, the thatch of hair all the wetter for her hips and their intent circles.

Beth said it back, that she loved him, but it mixed into the choke of a sob. His fingers pressed into her, rough and deep, intent on pleasing her. He could finger her, get her off, and be done. They didn’t have to crack open that box right now, but he would, if she wanted to.

“What d’you want?” Daryl wanted to hear from her what she was after, what the roll of her hips meant for her. She could ask for whatever she wanted, and he’d make it happen. “Beth.”

Beth was back to that coy shame, and he had to grin. She fumbled through a sentence, something about  _ more  _ , but that wasn’t what he was after. He kept his index finger inside her, probed her, pressed against the tight, wet warmth that never seemed to get any less tight, no matter how often they did this. Not that they were fiends, always fucking, or they had that many chances, but she was so tight.

“More what?”

Beth whined, and he didn’t feel bad. She could say it. She’d said it before, and she’d say it when she was ready. She enjoyed this part, the build-up, and he wanted her  _ gone  _ before he even got his pants undone.

Daryl nipped at her throat again, his finger hooked inside her, thumb at her clit. The pace kept up, and he wasn’t in control here. He was pinned under her, under her instruction, and he might seem like he’s got her around his finger, but it’s all her. She’s got his heart in as much of a vice as her thighs are around him, and he loves it. He’ll have to remember it, for their game.

There’s a shift to her, as one finger became two, and his thrusts became harder, more intense, and slower. Normally fast and quick and light seemed to be what she defaulted to. He’d seen it, her frantic hand between her legs, but he knew better. The sound of surprise as he roughly thrust his fingers into cunt was a delight.

“Daryl, please,  _ please _ .”

Daryl doesn’t know what the please is about, but he’ll

It took him by surprise, the way she shuddered up against him. Her hips cracked, closer, legs tighter, and there’s a flood of wet down his hand, his knuckles, and she’s loud. She doesn’t want to be, or acts like she doesn’t want to be, but it’s there. The door is ajar, and a sick little part of him is amused by the thought of someone, somewhere, aware that Beth Greene had come.

Except he’s also pretty fucking selfish, and he worked hard for the sounds that spilled from her. He pulled her mouth down to his. He swallowed all the moans, every little whimper worked through her.

There’s an intermission where she’s panting, hot and slick on top of him. She shot him a look, slim lips blown up by blood and bites. It’s ghost across her face, an annoyed tilt to her brown, like she hated him for what he’d done. Hate, love, it’s kind of a mixed thing, all that crap.

“You done?”

It’s an out. Because he could let her go now, smack her on the ass and let her free. He’d cop it. He’d go upstairs, take a shower, jerk off, it’s all on the cards. He’d never force her past what she was comfortable with, though he may guide her.

Beth kept that annoyed tilt to her brow, and shook her head. The loose hair all fanned from the tie, comically twirled and mused. The fingers buried inside her twitch, scissor, and she whined. Her hand caught his wrist, before he could do much more.

“Daryl, just  _ fuck  _ me, oh my God.” It’s not breathy and needy, but it’s close. The word  _ fuck  _ was rare from her, and she’d only bring it out when she meant it like this.

“No  _ please  _ ?”

“Daryl,  _ please  _ fuck me. Please.” There’s an edge of amusement to it, too, like she  _ knew  _ he’d not do it until she asked.

Daryl couldn’t help but groan, hands now at his jeans because the fuckers were still on. He thrust up, enough to lift his ass, and the jeans were out of the way enough, and it’s all a matter of enough. He shrugged off his jacket while he had the spare moment, only because it’s so hot beneath her.

Then there’s Beth.

Beth was already at the box of condoms, shaking hands and all. She was normally so polite and sweet with things, always careful to tear it open where it said so, but she didn’t this time. She ripped the box open, and the packets spilled out on the couch and floor, and it’s a literal mess of foil.

Poor, fucked out Beth, blown pupils and a bright red face. He probably looked no better.

“Here?” Daryl asked, tongue swiped out across his lips.

Beth looked around the sunroom, as if she’d only now realized where they were. There’s a decent amount of cover, and truthfully, you’d only be able to see in if someone came up the steps. There’s the wall, and garden, but no footpath. There’s hedges, and a fence, but from the right angle… He should be concerned, but he’s not. Neither of them are naked, not fully, and up till now, it’d have been easy to play off.

Fucking, that’s a whole different thing. Even if he’d fucked her with his hand, gotten her over that point she’d wailed about, it’s not quite the same.

Daryl has hand is splayed over her cunt, two fingers still buried inside her, curved, to ensure she didn’t feel an ounce of pain. Not the kind that came from a lack of preparation. He could fuck her hard enough it’d feel like it’d hurt, but he’s not sure he wants to  _ actually  _ hurt her.

Beth’s still so new to this. In a way, so is he.

It’s a special kind of fucked up that allowed him to appreciate her shiver, like she didn’t  _ realize  _ how exposed this spot was. So he waited, fingers still maddeningly gripped by her, and he wanted her, but he’d wait. She’d pleaded him for it, as good as begged, but he didn’t want to. Not here, not if she didn’t want it.

“Not here.”

Like he thought.

Beth slid back, her hands at his wrists, and he got pulled off the couch. He got it. He followed, his newly dislodged hand caught at his jeans so he didn’t lose them on the way. They probably looked like a mess, but that was nothing new. Except Beth didn’t drag him away. Not out of the room, or further into the house, like he thought she would.

No, Beth had a  _ thing  _ for surprises, same as him.

“Here.”

It’s a large wooden table, heavy (thank fucking  _ God  _ ) and decorated with some lacey shit and glass lanterns. Also an ugly bowl of wax fruit. He doesn’t know why he noticed it, but he does. People probably had some fancy parties here, wine, complaints about the old world.

Now, they’re gonna fuck on it, and he’s not exactly sure how this had happened.

Beth had already hopped up onto it, legs spread, fingers at her clit, and he’s mad. Mad, because she doesn’t ever seem fazed. He’s always scrambling after her, cock in hand, about to sob because she’s just a force of goddamn nature and he can’t compete.

Beth cast a look around, over the windows. There’s thin, gauzy curtains that cover most of the windows, but they’re useless. There’s the expanse of their yard, their clothes, and Daryl can’t look at any of that. He’s distracted by Beth, and the way she worked herself.

The gap between them is closed, and her fingers are at his mouth, because he’s shameless. The shirt is half-off, but he’s distracted. All he can smell is her, salty sweet and curious, and he wants more, all of it, but more than anything, he wanted to get one of those condoms on.

Daryl had it, he’d snatched it up before she’d dragged him away, and the packet is torn open, teeth and a wet hand, and then it’s on. He’s barely able to  _ get  _ it on, given how tender he is. He’s not even really thought about himself in the midst of all this, but he’s bone hard and slick with  _ her  _ , and he can’t keep up with the selflessness.

Even if it’s a false selflessness. He’s greedy for her, so it’s not as generous as it seemed.

The spread of her legs allowed Daryl close, and his fingers catch under her knees. One hand set against her ankle, to hook it around him, while the other lined him up against her.

It’s too easy to slide in, but that doesn’t make it easy on him. Daryl knew how tight she was, how wet, and hot, and how good her cunt felt, but it doesn’t help. Beth has her arms around him, for the moment. It’s a slow slide, each inch drew a new sound from her.

Daryl has never thought of himself as large, but it’s all he can think now as he watched himself disappear into her. The little gasps, about him, about how good he felt, it’s enough to make him blush. He blushed easily, though. Nothing new, nothing that he could disguise.

Once in, there’s an additional  _ buck _ , to test her, to see her react. She did, as she keened into him. He shifted his hands to her ass, one on either side. It’s a slow slide in, out, a test, and he’s not sure he can pass.

“Daryl, please.”

_ Yeah, Daryl, please.  _ Daryl cut a sigh through his teeth, a gritted sound. It wasn’t as bad as the first time, or even the first few times. He’s aware he won’t last porn star levels of stamina, but he can do enough, okay. The clutch of her muscles around him, and her arms, he wanted to make this good.

But there’s a thick need inside him, where he wanted to see her writhe and wail and that only came from  _ more _ . Like she’d whimper, mindlessly, not sure what it meant. Daryl kept the thrusts long, slow, until there wasn’t a tense each time. He bent closer, to kiss her, and she returned it. The momentum remained, and he’d slow for his own sake -- even if it served to tease her, it kept  _ him  _ from being done.

There was a moan, but she tamped it down. Daryl frowned, and lifted his lips back and away. “This what you wanted?” He nipped at her earlobe and grinned against her, given the  _ jump  _ that ran through her cunt.

Beth nodded eagerly in response. He missed it, or acted like he did.

“No?” There’s a slow, near a stop, and he’s proud that he didn’t laugh.

“Daryl, don’t be a jerk.” Beth dug her fingers into his arm. She was smiling too, which broke into a louder moan when he resumed pace.

The thick sound of slick skin against skin, the wet shift of her cunt as she tried to keep up, it’s a lot to take in. He can taste her on his tongue, from her fingers before. And she’s got her hand down there again, because she’s as greedy as he is. It left his hands free to grope at her ass, and slowly, to shift up to her hips.

Daryl drew back, near looming over her. There’s a lot to admire, the expanse of flushed skin, the sprawl of a golden strands, and the pop of her eyes each time he hit the hilt. His hips kept a slow, ground out pace, and her moans were lower, more resolute.

Except it’s Beth Fucking Greene, and he’s fucking her, and this is real. It blew his mind every time, among other things.

“C’mere.”

Beth clumsily pushed herself up onto her elbows, and Daryl snatched her up. There’s no way he’s gonna last much longer, but he needs her close, wants her close, and so he had a better idea. One hand took to her ass, the other at the back of her head, and he lifted her. They separated, his cock achingly smacked against her ass, but it was brief. She’s light, and her legs are latched onto him.

The table was great, sure, but there’s a perfectly good wall, and let him have this.

His knuckles hit the wall, and his cock pushed back into her. Her legs tensed, and there’s a moan of surprise, and things only got worse from there. Better, really, but she’s louder now. Maybe it’s only because her mouth is on his ear, but he can hear every thump of her heart and feel every pulse of cunt, and he’s only got so much willpower.

“Daryl, you're so good.” Beth hiccuped between thrusts, which is only endeared him further. Like he needed her reassurance -- which maybe he did. “I love when you get me against walls. Gets me so hot.“

The last part, he must have imagined. It’d been so quiet, like a lie he told himself. He wanted to ask her to repeat herself, but he couldn’t. Daryl growled out a sound, against her ear in turn. He’s only thankful that he’s in control of the pace, with her hips held in his hands, her pinned against the wall by his thrusts.

“S’your turn.”

Beth was cocky, it’s in her tone. It’s all steps, little ones, shared between them. But she knew, she fucking  _ knew  _ what she did to him. Her little voice, all strung out, he wasn’t far off. He couldn’t even think straight, but she told him it was  _ his  _ turn -- fine.

“Love how you get a dirty mouth ‘round me, when you want me t’fuck you.” His face is red, and he knows it. It took every pluck of courage he had, but he did it. “S’hot.” This isn’t the time for their game, and she knew it, but she went there. Daryl’s hips snapped against her, longer, lingered thrusts. He was open mouthed and panting against her neck, and she was a mess of squirms.

“You like when I say  _ fuck me,  _ right?” Beth giggled, and he was annoyed at her cockiness. Again. Like it ever stopped. But she wasn’t done. “Or d’you mean like  _ cunt  _ ?”

“Fuck,  _ girl.  _ ” No, not that. She’s never said that word to him, or him to her, but that’d changed. Beth did love to step things up, to get a surprise out of him.

Everything is too hot and too fast, and he’s so thankful that they don’t have to rely on pulling out, because he couldn’t do it. He’s so deep inside her, and he didn’t want to be done, but a lot of people want a lot of things, and Beth Greene wanted to get him off.

Because she’s a fucking minx, and she does it on purpose. She’s the kind of girl with doe eyes and no panties, and she’s a fucking terrible influence, if he’s honest.

There’s a few scattered bucks, but mainly his cock is forced as far into her as possible, and she’s smug. Without even a glance at her face, he knew it. He could feel that twinkle of amusement without even a look at her face.

Because Beth Greene is too tight, too wet, too cocky, and her words alone are a surprise. She sung like an angel, but drew out the cusses to get to him.

The snap of his hips stopped, and he’s not going to move. Darl’s teeth are dug into her shoulder, their hair mixed into his eyes and his bite, but he doesn’t care. He’s still for a moment, inside her, blown out, eyes dazed and worn out. He wanted to sleep, or at least fall on the floor, but he can’t move.

“Daryl.” Beth growled his name, her hips shifted downwards, outwards, but to no end.

The pressure isn’t where she needed to be, and that’s her own fucking fault. She can suffer for a moment, while he got his brains back between his ears. For now, Daryl is stuck there, inside her, unable to breath properly. It’d been a mistake, to get her off before they’d fucked, but he didn’t care.

If he was feeling nice, he could help her along.

But was he feeling nice?

“Daryl, I’m… Please? I’m so close, just…”

“Just?” Daryl’s voice is thick and lazy, and he’s not inclined to do much of anything. She’s still pinned to the wall between his hands and hips. The press of his hips against her meant she couldn’t reach herself. Though his cock wilted, now that he’d gotten off. Stupid fucking thing, couldn’t even  _ last  _ , but she’s not fussed with that.

It’s her fault, with that filthy peach-pink mouth of hers. She’s understanding, though, and she’s not once complained about duration. Such a sweet girl.

His sweet girl, he thought vaguely.

Beth needn’t even ask for him to go down, he’d done it by the time her feet hit the ground. It’s a clean transition, so much so that he’s proud. He can see her now, and appreciate the thoroughly fucked appearance. She’s got a mess of hair, mostly out of the ponytail, and his shirt caught at her elbows. It’s not disguised much, so he can make out all the hickeys across her collarbone and chest.

There’s the swath of blonde hair beyond soaked, swollen pink lips on her face and cunt, and he’s happy to oblige. He pressed his lips against her thigh. His tongue dragged across the flesh there, and she let out a moan. It’s easier for him now, given he’s done it before. Not as many times as he’d like, but there’s always tomorrow -- and right now.

Daryl paused, cheek against her thigh. His eyes flicked up to hers, stern.

“You can, if you wanna.“ Beth gently stroked his hair, all affection.

There’s a slow nod from Daryl, as he hadn’t meant to wait for permission. But he had. He’d stop asking for it, eventually. But she’d always be able to tell him  _ no _ . He never wanted to push her into the position where she’d  _ have  _ to tell him no. He preferred when she asked. Even better when she begged.

Not that he got the  _ begging  _ thing -- it was only him.

Daryl lifted his hand to her, two fingers slid inside her to replace the pressure from before. She’s got her full attention down at him, and he’s grinning. There’s wonder in her eyes, and she’s so cute it makes him feel ill. It confused him at first, how someone naked and wet and  _ writhing  _ could be cute, but Beth nailed it.

“S’good?” Of course it is. He’s just an asshole who’d found his tongue.

Beth nodded, one hand at his hair, the other at her breast. She’s not full of confidence now, not like before. His tongue swiped out against his own lips, and she whined. Her hips shifted forward, an offer, but he’s resolute.

For once.

He took a deep breath, which only drew her scent into him. Maybe that’s what gave him to confidence to proceed. There’s a swell of confidence, as he thought about what had tipped him over the edge. The curve of her lips around dirty words, whispered to him like a secret. His skin rippled with electricity, and he smirked up at her.

Beth had told him that to try whatever he wanted, that they’d learn together. It’d gone well the last time he had followed his gut.

“M’thinkin’ you’d like it, when I cuss. Can feel it, when I say  _ cunt _ .”

There’s a cry, high, and pitchy, and surprised. “Daryl,  _ don’t _ .“ It’s giggled out, just barely.

It’s the same kind of  _ don’t  _ she gave him when she’d reached for his belt. It’s all talk, and her actions are nowhere near in line with her words. The way her hips ground down against him, and how she pressed his head down, closer to her cunt, he knew better.

There’s a consistent, low moan from her, but he’s high on his own trip. If she wanted to, she could tell him to knock it off, and mean it, and he would. He’d gladly tear that orgasm from her, and hold her close. This was in the cards, and he’d never be so awful to her as to  _ deny  _ her. But they’re having fun.

Worst of all, Beth liked it. Her thighs are coated, his shirt no better, and he wanted to hear her say it.

“Don’t?” Daryl pressed a few soft kisses to her pelvis, too high to be anything  _ relieving  _ for her. His fingers continued to crook and curl within her, at a slow pace.

“You’re bein’ a  _ tease _ .”

“Ain’t teasin’.” His fingers scissored inside her as he bit at her hip. “M’just seein’ which words get you wet.”

Daryl saw the affronted look in her eyes, like she hadn’t expected him to call her out. But Daryl was observant, and he was a complete asshole. She’d picked the word for a reason, and he was happy to meet her challenge. It’s easier now, and he’s plucked all this from a place deep down. It’d taken her months to get him comfortable, years even, but she was likely regretting it now.

“If I said I want t’fuck your cunt, hard, make you come so bad you cry -- gets you off, right?” There’s a conspiratorial glint in his eye, and he’s not wrong. There’s a throb, deep and low, and she’s aware of it, too. “Act all  _ coy  _ , but y’ain’t even close.”

You’d think he’d slapped her, with the look on her face. Her jaw is dropped open, and surprise is in her eyes, but he’s gonna hear about it later. Right now Daryl is just here to enjoy her.

“S’what I thought.”

Daryl nosed into her, tongue heavy and hot to match her. She’s as sweet as ever, with the tang of sweat and likely his own taste, and it’s just a nice mix. He groaned into her, eyes shut for a moment while he took her in. He’s lost in her for now, chin dipping in rhythm with her hips.

The rasp of his scruff and tongue push her back into moans and pants. It’s not long before he forced his eyes back open. She couldn’t meet his eye, but she forced herself to. Maybe it’s because he’s  _ seeing  _ her, not just looking at her. There’s a defiance in the arch of her back, but she’s rattled.

His other hand took to the back of her thigh, to hook her leg up and over his shoulder. She was shivering heavily, and he would feel bad, but he didn’t. The flat of his tongue drew along her clit and he’d turn to bite at her thighs. It’s weird, almost like he knew what he was doing, and maybe he did.

The downwards roll of her hips, to meet each thrust of his fingers and tongue, it’s beyond enjoyable. The pitch of her voice is lost, and she’s developed a rasp of her own. She kept his name in circulation, around the word  _ fuck  _ , and pleas to God. Church girls weren’t supposed to call out to God’s name in vain, but church girls weren’t supposed to get eaten out either.

“C’mon Beth, s’all for you, girl.”

Whether she’d waited for the prompt, or it was a coincidence, Daryl can’t tell. His hand fell away from her, beyond wet, and he’s tonguing her cunt like it’s his last chance. She’s gone. He can feel it,  _ taste it  _ , from the twitch of her muscles, in her thighs, her hands, her cunt, she’s undone.

It’s the sweetness and wetness he’s used to, drawn out and down his face. There’s a smile pressed up into her, but his tongue is lost inside her. She’s got a tight grip on his hair, and it’s hard to explain. Her chest is pressed out, fingers clumsily plucking at her nipple, mouth open to the air. The light is gone outside, the sunset burned up into blues and blacks.

Daryl is so glad they have a house to themselves. He’d hate to miss all these sounds, if she were to swallow them back quietly, privately, for the sake of privacy. Fuck that. Daryl only stopped tonguing her when she pulled at his hair, and it was begrudgingly at that.

“You are a jackass.”

Daryl can only laugh. Because yeah, he pretty much is. His face is wet and he’s got her on him, her lips, desperate kisses, and she’s so, so warm, but so naked. He tugged her close, chin tucked on top of her head, arms wrapped around her.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is an excerpt from a larger fic, [Learn The Rules](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6552139), but as it's so thoroughly PWP, I wanted to keep it separate. This fic is set after their first time (so this isn't a first time kinda fic), and does fit within the canon of that story. They characterization presumes a lot of months of dating & intimacy between Beth & Daryl, and has personal canon and story to it. Hopefully it'll be fine
> 
> Props to my friend who writes Daryl, whose characterization inspired me to write this. Additional props to [DynamicSymmetry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dynamicsymmetry/pseuds/dynamicsymmetry) for the inspiration & boost of confidence to write the smut I want to see in the world. Nothing specifically was taken, but I will attribute my interest in Bethyl & writing smut to them.


End file.
